Drinking Games
by Pipkat
Summary: Jack and the Doctor have a drink or two, or three, or heck the whole thing. Sometimes we miss being shiny.


Hey, I'm such a writing addict now. Can't help myself. Enjoy my little bout in the angst that is Doctor Who. A little loving for Captain Jack Harkness. This little diddy is in his POV. What fun.

**Disclaimer: I swear on my scull and cross bone sneakers that I don't own a thing. Pinky swear.**

_Drinking Games_

_Pipkat_

It had been a trying day. Not that any day since he'd joined the "Daring Duo" had been particularly _easy _(he'd had _more_ things fired at him than one night stands), it had just been more…dark.

They'd landed on what the Doc thought to be a happy-go-lucky, free love and food planet. Instead they found themselves with a pack of xenophobes. Some alien technology (how did _that_ get _here_?) that had been used to modify D.N.A to get rid of defects and genectic diseases on another planet (and time) had landed here due to some anomaly. This little doohickey had been misused to create a supposedly "superior" genetic race for those who could afford it. Now, they wanted to destroy the "lesser" folks to keep the race "pure." The Doc, of course, got all hot around the collar (a good look for him) and brought up destroying his race to Rose (who looked worried…should _I_ be?) and one of the guys heard him and commended his "_ingenuity_." Things exploded from there, hell was raised, we saved them of course, but the Doc seemed _off_. Smiled and waved away Blondie's and my concerns of course. And he was, _fine_, until Rose went to bed. Naturally I knew something was wrong when he asked me if _I_ wanted a drink. Under any circumstances this would have been great (_Fantastic_!) but when he got a jug with a suspiciously harmless looking blue drink and started pouring glasses I knew my morning tomorrow was going to be…unpleasant.

"Does this mean I get to flirt now?"

"You have to _buy_ me a drink, Jack." _Oh well. Won't stop me from trying._

"What is this stuff?"

"Strong." _Duh._

"How do you know?"

"Experience." _I'm screwed…twice in one day…_

The atmosphere was surprisingly…tense. I eased it the only way I knew how.

"Wanna play a drinking game?"

"Sure. I'm good at games, me."

And he was. _Too_ good.

We played all the originals, I made up a few. I was starting to sway, but that guy just kept going. And _going_. We paused to "let my nanites catch up." _Please_.

Then he started staring at my side. Been grazed by some projectile from their guns. Stung like a punch in the gut, but I'd take another one before I'd tell him _that_.

"You can tell me when it hurts." (He was miffed but pretending not to be.)

"Likewise." (I was being cute. He had it coming.)

"Silly ape. I don't get hurt. I'm bloody fantastic all the bloody time, until I sing a song and send Death away. Even then your people cheer me. Tell me, Jack: How fantastic am I now?"

How to answer that. _Not_ going to. Take _that_ Time Lord; I won't join your pity party, no matter how _yummy_ the host looked.

We'd drunk more of that jug than was safe for any human, and I bet (_hope_) Time Lord.

Musta read my mind, or close enough to it 'cause he gave me this bitter smile.

"Trust me, Jack. It'll get to you before it even touches me."

"Well, to answer your question, _I_ think you're a fantastic drinker, and the best at drinking games."

"All I do is play games, Jack. Wouldn't be good if I lost now, would it."

A statement, not a question. He's staring into space, prob'ly time. Things I can't see. I almost hate him. He makes me feel naïve. Young. Tarnished and shiny at the same time. Maybe he is too. That's why we have Rose. She polishes us till we're clean again. She's so much better at the pep talking the angst out of him. I wish I could just kiss him and end this. I'd rather not face an angry, possibly inebriated Time Lord. Maybe later.

"It hurts Jack."

"Yeah. That bluey gooey stuff burns going down. Sucks the drinking funness out of drinking."

"You think you forgive yourself, but you don't. It burns low, and chokes you so you can't think. You just feel the turn of…of _everything_."

"At least you didn't forget what you did for two years." Why did I _have_ to open that can of worms!

"I wish I could Jack. They wanted to be like me. A purifier. Fools. Look what the Time War has left us explorers," His swirls his glass. I can imagine him drinking wine in Paris, gazing a Moriarty with that fiendish grin. If Moriarty had seen that, Sherlock would have been forgotten. He smiles that devil-may-care-I-wish-I-didn't-_look_ "…a broken universe with a broken Time Lord."

"No, you don't. You're not broken Doc. Just need to be polished. Besides, if we ever played pair drinking games it'd be an honor to drink with you. After all drinking games are _our_ specialty."

He smiles then.

"What about Rose?" (It's always _her_, isn't it Doc?)

"Well, all pro drinkers need to have a designated driver. Imagine, driving a time machine while "under the influence!"

He laughs then, and all is well in the greater expanse.

The Doctor and his adventures may drink me under the table (and _under_ ground) but if there ever was an alien I wouldn't mind drinking with, it's him.

Because even under the influence, he's _still_ our designated driver, to whatever end.

Sorry for the angsty stuff. Just hit me while I was watching t.v….can't wait for the Doctor Who marathon…review to help the time between today and tomorrow seem…less. Thanks!


End file.
